Kal a Jayga: Tomorrow Will Come
by General San3
Summary: Alternate ending to Kal Ho Na Ho. Naina really lets Aman make too many of the decisions. The day of the wedding, she decides to take her fate into her own hands. NainaxAman, fluffy as a pet poodle!
1. Chapter 1: Naina

**Kal a Jayga: Tomorrow Will Come**

Alternate ending to Kal Ho Na Ho. Naina really lets Aman make too many of the decisions. The day of the wedding, she decides to take her fate into her own hands.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, nor the story of KHNH. All that belongs to YR Films.

**Chapter One: Naina**

This is a joyful day. I am sitting on a cushion in the middle of my living room, a room so transformed in the last few weeks that it is barely recognizable. Garlands hang in gaudy profusion down the walls like waterfalls of color – scarlet, ocher, viridian, azure waterfalls. The floor is strewn with pillows and colorful cloths, although a large section has been cleared for the dancing.

Inside me, everything is unrecognizable, too. I am as weary, heartbroken, and drained of color as the room is lively, joyous, and colorful. Today, I am to be married.

My name is Naina Katherine Kapur, and this is my story.

There is only one name in my mind today. _Aman. Aman, Aman, forever Aman, always Aman._ My chest hurts from holding back tears. Will I always feel this way? Trapped, wherever I turn, by the stupid twists of fate that have brought me to my wedding palanquin weeping? Will I never be free of his eyes, those eyes that can be merry one moment, serious the next, and holding one captive a second later?

Apparently not. My eyes glance up of their own accord, and he is right in front of me. He is dancing with Jazz, but when he sees me looking at him he stops and I am immediately aware of how unusually serious he's looking. No sign of a smile. Apparently everyone is feeling a bit grim today.

_You can stop your father's tears by bringing your dimple out of hiding . . ._ I feel his finger gently tap the side of my face – _Sorry, wrong side . . ._

I slowly reach my hand up to the right side of my face and tap my cheek where my dimple is hiding. He knows exactly what I mean. He makes a face (wrong side) but he puts his finger on his own cheek and the dimple appears. Not the deepest I've ever seen it, but enough to take that sad look out of his eyes. I smile a little in return, but the weight is on me harder than ever.

I feel as though my heart is stuttering – as if I'm the one with the weak heart, the heart that will soon separate us, will take my Aman away from me. He sees my sadness and comes to kneel in front of me, taking some yellow tumeric on his fingers as a pretext for coming so close. I offer my cheek, but instead of cold dye I feel his warm breath on my skin, fluttering like a bird. My heart is even more stuttery now. _Stupid,_ I reproach myself. _This is all you'll ever have. No swooning. Take it all in._ His lips touch my cheek, softer than a breath, and I seem to forget that I am sitting in the middle of a crowded room, celebrating (is that even the right word?) my marriage to Rohit Patel.

He remembers first, and he moves away, turning his head so that I can't see what's in his eyes. Probably for the best. I'd only wish he'd aim better next time he tried to kiss me.

Then I see the tear rolling down his cheek, and I realize something. This is _Aman_ we're talking about here. Aman, who accused me of not knowing how to laugh or have fun – of forgetting how to smile. And here he is, crying because of this situation we've managed to get ourselves into.

Or, more accurately, _he_ got us into. I wasn't the one who had decided to play matchmaker with myself and Rohit just to fulfill some idea he'd had about making me happy. I wasn't happy. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to Rohit, who was probably the nicest guy in New York; it wasn't fair to Aman; it wasn't fair to _me._

Who is Aman to tell us that we have to carry on our lives the way he says? Who is he to tell me "smile like so" or "marry that man?" I'm tired of doing things the way Aman Mathur wants me to do them.

I open my mouth. _Aman, I love you. I won't marry Rohit. We still have time. We'll be together. I love you._

Oh, but he's so stubborn! So stubborn, he still hasn't admitted that he loves me. Not unless he could pretend he was only speaking for Rohit, that is. How can something be so obvious that sometimes I forget that he spent quite a while denying it while clutching me tightly to his chest – so close that I could hear the stammering of his heart? He'll deny it again – he will never see his "weakness" come between me and – and what? A lifetime with Rohit? Of enshrining him in my memory? To be honest, I'd prefer to throw myself off a bridge. I _won't_ sit here and let him dictate to me. It's time someone told the oh-so-knowing Mr. Mathur what _he_ ought to do.

So I stand up. I open my mouth. I intend to say something fine, something clever, something, anything. But all that comes out of my mouth is a frustrated screech, rather like a stepped-on cat.

"STOP IT!"

Then I kick over the bowl of tumeric, just for good measure. It soaks into the pillow immediately like a pool of sulfur.

He jumps, and so does everyone else. My mother, Jennifer, turns her head so fast that her long black ponytail whips over her shoulder, and my _Dadi_ cricks her neck. Sweetu nearly falls over in a half-completed dance move, and her sister Jazz bumps into her from behind. Their wide brown eyes travel over the room to rest on my face. Aman turns his head slowly to look up at me, and I stare down at him.

"I can't do it, Aman," I say. "I can't marry Rohit. Not like this. It's not fair," I say loudly to stop _Dadi_ from saying anything. "I'm going to talk to him right now. _Alone_," I say as Aman opens his mouth. Let him try to tell me what to do. I'm not going to, not anymore.

I spin on my heel and head for the door. I know I'm making a fine exit – everyone is too stunned to say anything – when my progress is halted by pressure on my neck. Someone – and I have a fair idea who – has grabbed the edge of my veil. I turn, glaring my best glare, to look at the man seated next to the seat I had just vacated. He is still holding on to the end of my veil, and I feel my anger growing.

"Let go, Aman," I say through gritted teeth. "Let go or I'll drag you behind me all the way."

"Do it, then," he said in a tone that was so calm I hated him for a second. Hatred was good – hatred brought out the words that were choking me.

"How dare you?" I say in a voice that makes little Gia flinch. "How dare you try to stop me? How dare you – how dare you come here and turn my life upside down? How dare you remind me what it means to smile – and laugh – and love – and then take all that away from me? I can't undo what's been done! I can't forget how to smile – I can't forget laughing, and dancing, and loving! I wish I could."

I stop, realizing that I had said rather more than I had intended, and he had let go. My veil dances through the air to land, feather-light, on my feet.

"How dare you make me remember what it is to cry," I finish with a whisper. My face is wet, and so is his. My mother is trembling, her face shiny with tears. "Aman, you can't give me the world and then try to take it away from me. I'm holding on with both hands."

Then I turn and run, and if he calls after me, I don't hear.


	2. Chapter 2: Rohit

**Kal a Jayga: Tomorrow Will Come**

Alternate ending to Kal Ho Na Ho. Naina really lets Aman make too many of the decisions. The day of the wedding, she decides to take her fate into her own hands.

**Chapter Two: Rohit**

My office feels empty today. Actually, it's rather full – of flowers, notes, and gifts. The office party was yesterday, and the sticky smell of champagne still lingers. I smooth the red silk tie against my chest and tilt my chair back to stare at the ceiling.

So empty.

Like a movie theater after the movie is over, all popcorn floors and sticky with spilled soda and nobody but ushers. That's what the world feels like now that Aman is going to die.

_Die_. The last person I would have marked for death, not that I usually think about things like that, but _Aman?_ I'd have laughed, had I heard someone say that a month, no, a week ago. Aman, who seemed to be able to do anything. Who never lost his sunny smile and his ready jokes – Aman, here, yesterday, sweat-stained and choking on tears, begging me to marry the woman he loved as a "dying man's last wish."

I could never refuse Aman anything. Not after all he's done for me. He gave me Naina, and as if that weren't enough, he gave her up as if it were nothing – I never even knew the depth of his feelings until yesterday. I saw the pain then.

The desk phone rings. I jump, banging my leg against the side of the desk. Swearing, I grab the receiver and grunt into it:

"Rohit here."

"_Rohit_!" Aman's voice is as urgent as a drumbeat. "_You didn't answer your mobile! I've been __calling for ten minutes, idiot!_"

I lean forward – even if Aman can forget about the weight that hangs over him, I cannot. "Are you okay? Did you hear from the doctor?"

"_This isn't about me, duffer!_" he answers impatiently. "_Is Naina there? I have to wait for the bus – stupid drivers, always running late –_"

"What about Naina?" I jump to my feet, grabbing for my coat. "She's supposed to be having her _pithi_ ceremony now!"

"_No, Rohit. Sit back down._" He cannot see me. How does he always know what I'm doing? I slowly sink back into my seat. "_Naina – she was at the _pithi_. She left fifteen minutes ago, she said she had to talk to you. Rohit, you need to calm her down. She'll listen to you. She had a big fit – ah! Here, I see the bus coming!_"

I'm glad that I am already sitting down. "She's going to call it off, isn't she."

Aman is silent, which is so unusual that I take it for assent. "_I'll be there in five minutes,_" he says at last, quietly. "_Five minutes._" Then the line goes dead.

I return the phone to its resting place and turn my chair to face the window, leaning back against the chair. There is no realization, no acceptance, not even comprehension. The words pound against my head: _She said she had to talk to you. She had a big fit. She's going to call it off._

_Naina loves Aman._ That I've known for quite a while now – although sometimes I wish I could forget. If it were only Aman that this wedding were hurting, I think we both could have borne it. But I knew that her pain is his pain, as much as it is mine.

My heart beats only for her, only for her. Then the brain must work for her, too. If Aman can manufacture a happy ending, why not me? Why can't I solve this problem? For Naina, Naina, Naina. And yes, for Aman too. He was really being too self-sacrificing.

"Rohit."

The sound is soft, subdued, but I would know Naina's voice anywhere. I slide my feet to return myself to an upright position, and I swivel my chair to face her. She is standing in the doorway, her hands folded, her chin lifted – and her eyes, oh, the expression frightens me. All of my self-sacrificing thoughts go out of the window. I can't let her say it. What if Aman was wrong?

"Naina?" I clear my throat. She wants to say something, and I am too afraid to let her. "You're here? I thought the ceremony was this morning." I notice that she is wearing an amber-colored sari. It is gorgeous on her. Her hair is all blown about, and she has obviously just been walking.

"It is. I left." She takes a step forward, and the light falls on her dark-brown hair, bringing out the golden highlights. She's so beautiful. "Rohit, I had to talk to you." My heart aches, and I know what she's going to say. There are tears trembling on her lashes. I am the cause of this pain, at least part of it, and I can't bear to see all this pain she's in.

"You love Aman, and you can't marry me," I say. I smile, and for some reason the pain is less. As if saying it is already beginning to heal my broken heart. Her eyes are wide. She runs forward and kneels next to me. A waft of Naina-scented breeze brushes my face. I try not to breathe it in. That breeze, that scent, is Aman's, not mine.

"Rohit, you know I love you – I always will – but I . . . I . . ." Her glorious eyes are spilling over with tears now.

I stand, and I pull Naina to her feet as well. "If you're going to be Aman's happy ending," I say, "you need to remember one thing – you don't look nice when you cry." She manages to chuckle wetly as I wipe the tears off her cheeks and hug her tightly. "I was happy that you even took me as your second choice," I murmur against her hair.

"What?" she mumbles into my shoulder.

"Nothing," I say. I am happy simply to hold her.


	3. Chapter 3: Aman

**Kal a Jayga: Tomorrow Will Come**

Alternate ending to Kal Ho Na Ho. Naina really lets Aman make too many of the decisions. The day of the wedding, she decides to take her fate into her own hands.

_Author's Note: I think that Aman is a lot more serious on the inside than he is on the outside. Hence, his "inner" voice, as I have written it, is not quite as lighthearted as his "outer" voice._

**Chapter Three: Aman**

Why does dying have to hurt so much? Not only the constant _thud thud, thud thud thud, thud, thud thud_ of my heart against my ribs – but the tears in Naina's eyes, the pain in Rohit's voice – they hurt more than a heart attack, and I've had several of those.

My mother stopped me running after Naina when she left. The look in her eyes reminded me that I'd nearly given myself another episode yesterday, charging halfway across town. I was lucky, yesterday. My heart is reminding me, too, that I probably won't be so lucky today.

Luck. Huh. I seem to have run out of that stuff altogether – luck and time both. Priya's eyes tell me that much. Even her "stupid doctor face" can't hide the fact that she's more scared every time she sees me. And I'm running out of things to distract me from the fact that I'm pretty scared, too.

Naina was a distraction, for a while. I was able to lose my fear and the constant, deadening thump of my own heartbeats in her eyes for a while – but now even she reminds me that soon, soon, I will lose her; will lose all of what I have loved. Well, more accurately, they will lose me. I will be reborn into another form, forgetting everything about this life.

According to Naina's religion, apparently, I will go up to heaven and be an angel. That would be okay, too. Then I will remember. I will be able to watch Naina and Rohit and their life together and be happy, maybe.

The bus shifts gears and the seat rumbles under me. I am close to my stop – I can see the glass-sided building where Rohit works, rising high above the sidewalk in front of me. The bus lurches to a halt and I run down the steps. My heart is racing. It feels like being punched in the chest, rapidly and rhythmically.

So. I will take it slowly. Good, anyway – give Rohit more time to talk Naina out of breaking their engagement. I'm not really sure what I'm going to say to her, anyway. The "I don't love you" line is getting harder and harder to pull off; it's getting to be a bigger lie every day.

As I walk across the polished granite floor of the lobby and into the elevator, as I watch the numbers climb on the display, I am squishing my love far down into my chest, an air bubble that wants to rise to the top of the pool and burst into song. I have to do this. Once upon a time, it had been so easy to lie to Naina, to hide my love and my pain and my fear. To tell her that Priya was my wife, to help Rohit reveal his love, to pretend that their happy ending would make me happy.

Well, it would make me happy, as happy as I could be, anyway. As happy as a world without Naina could be.

Rohit's office is down the hallway, and I take the time walking down it to fix my face into a carefree smile. Bursting into the office, I turn to Naina as a magnet turns to the north. She is standing near one of the walls, which is really just a huge window. Rohit is behind his desk. This separation, this distance, between them, does not comfort me.

"Naina," I say remonstratively, "your mother was very surprised when you left your _pithi_ ceremony so suddenly." She is staring at me wordlessly, and something is glittering in her eyes, something that is as strong and as beautiful as crystal. I try to continue with my speech. "You know I can't sit through a mother's . . ."

"You never told us," Rohit says loudly, cutting me off. I look at him properly for the first time and see that he's on the phone. He is also staring at me, and there is a strange, stretched-looking grin on his face. "You never told us that you still had a chance."

"What on earth are you talking about, Rohit?" I glance between them – Naina with her unreadable eyes, Rohit with that strange smile.

"Money may not be able to buy you happiness, Aman," Rohit says, and somehow the stretched grin turns into a big, stupid smile - "But it can certainly buy you heart surgery." He holds up his desk phone. "I called Priya. She's still on the line." 

I stumble forward. The phone is by my ear. "Priya, is this idiot making any sense to you?" I say, striving for calm.

There are tears in her voice, but she laughs as she says, "_Oh, Aman . . ._"

"Is what he says true?" I put on my firmest voice. "Priya doctor, you never told me about this surgery!"

"_We discussed it – oh, months ago, years even. With your insurance, even with the Heart Foundation fund, it would have been too expensive. Specialists in Switzerland, six or seven surgeries, months in rehab – but, oh, Aman, if it works, _yaar_ . . ._"

"How long, Priya," I manage to say. "Just tell me how long."

The number she whispers is so ludicrous, so unbelievable, so scary almost, that I don't properly hear it. Instead I look at Naina. She stares back at me, and the fire in her beautiful eyes is like a wave of warmth to my suddenly numb body. I hear, on the other end of the line, Priya giving me her usual cautions – about experimental surgeries, about dangers and risks and bed rest (which I cannot stand) but I simply hand the phone back to Rohit. As if I care – now that I have nothing to lose, everything to gain. He is grinning – he says to Priya:

"I think we'll have to hammer out the details later. He's not going to hear it right now."

I don't hear him, either. Naina is in my arms, her warm cheek is pressed against mine. There are no tears now – only that fierce warmth, that fire, that warms me.

"You'll come to Switzerland with me, won't you?" I whisper, running my fingers through her hair. "Only I think the snow will be too cold for me unless I have you there to hug me. Priya is too tall – she's as skinny as a whip –"

Naina laughs. "Are you calling me fat?" She makes to back away, but I don't let her. Only far enough away that I can see her face. The dimple is there, although she is trying to hide it. I know that my dimples are out in full force.

"What I'm saying, Naina Katharine Kapur, is that you'd better try to keep your hands off me – poor Rohit doesn't know where to look." I break into laughter as she blushes and looks over at Rohit.

"Rohit –" she says, but he throws up a hand to stop her.

"It's all right, Naina. I'm glad to be a part of this love story. I'm going into the office next door to call my parents – once I explain everything, they'll be delighted." He passes me, and I let go of Naina for a moment to grab his arm.

"Rohit, thank you." He turns his head reluctantly to look at me, and I see the tears in his eyes. Then he chuckles wetly.

"When I think what you almost made me do, you duffer . . ." he says, and then rushes out of the room.

"Naina . . ." I whisper. Too many times I've said that when I was on my own, to the silence and darkness, enclosed by sadness and loneliness that I had thought would never be lifted. "Naina, Naina, Naina, Naina."

"Aman," she whispers back. She pulls away again, the fire in her eyes burned down to embers, doused by tears.

"You didn't have to make such a big scene back there," I say teasingly. "I'd have run away with you any day of the week. As it is, I'm afraid your _Dadi_ is going to be upset for a day or two."

She smiles, tremulously. "You're just so impossible when you think you know what's best," she said. "Anyways," her voice gains strength, "You'd better get used to scenes. You're among the crazy Kapurs now – yes, and even the crazy Kapoors."

"I wouldn't want anything else." I can't really believe that this is happening. It seems so unbelievable, like a dream suddenly turning into reality - but no dream could be this good. Something in my heart, perhaps the constant pain, is reminding me, punishing me for this selfishness – what if I am just setting Naina up for more pain? "Naina," I say seriously, holding her round chin gently between my fingers, "You don't have to do this, you know. Chances are, I'll still only live for a few years, at most, and . . ."

"Shut up, Aman," she snaps. Her hand steals up to rest over my pounding heart. She stares up at me. "Aman. I can't let you go. Even if this doesn't work, I've got to love you while I have you – _kal ho na ho._"

I shake my head. "Don't say that. Now I've got something to live for, the future seems much brighter. Tomorrow will come, Naina. _Kal a jayga._"

THE END (or is it . . . ?)

_P.S. To any readers who stumble upon this story who actually speak Hindi, I apologize if my translations of Hindi words or phrases are, umm, incorrect. The only Hindi I know I learned from Bollywood movies, and Google Translate provided the rest. If you have any corrections to offer, please leave it for me in a review or email me! And everyone – leave reviews! I eat 'em up! Even if you HATED it, tell me why (no flames, please – not everyone will like EVERYTHING) so that I can improve my writing. Thanks! ~GS3_


	4. Chapter 4: Naina Again

_Author's Note: I had a request for a more realistic ending, an ending that reflected the fact that Aman had a life-threatening disease. I wanted to rewrite that whole hospital scene anyway, so here it is: How It Should Have Ended._

**Chapter Four: Naina**

He's dying now.

I am focused on his fingers in mine, still warm, still trembling with life.

I am focused on his eyelashes resting like black feathers against his pale cheek.

I am focused on his breaths, quietly moving from his lungs to pass his lips, then back again.

I am focused on his heartbeats, pounding slowly and more slowly.

I am focused on the memories, the years we had, the years we fought for and won.

He's dying now.

I breathe through the fear, the dark years that stretch ahead of me.

I close my eyes against the sight of his mother's tears, the sorrow etched into her face.

I open my eyes to catch Rohit's glance, the glance of love and concern. The strength I wish I could possess.

He's dying.

I remember his smile, the dimples that play across his face.

I remember the warmth of his arms around me, his heartbeat like a drum against my ear.

I remember his voice, his words that I never could get enough of.

I remember the moments when our eyes would meet for endless spans of time, when it was just him and me, Aman and Naina.

I remember laughter, tears, pain, joy, hope, and dread.

He's dying now.

Whatever I may want, whatever I may hope for, the time is now and I am about to step into the dark.

Without him.

He said something to me, something that was important and I should not forget. As my eyes trace the deep crescent of his eyebrows, I let my mind drift back to that day.

_I was so angry. The surgery was over, the healing was done, he was home and well and we were in love. And then it happened._

_We were at the grocery store, buying vegetables, he was smiling and I was laughing and we were holding hands. Then his face turned gray and he sort of fell sideways, and I don't remember anything except some lady with two kids in her cart called 911 and I was kneeling there, vegetables forgotten, holding his hand and begging him, please don't leave me, don't leave me, I love you . . ._

_He opened his eyes to look at me. He smiled, like at that day on the pier. The day that I found out and my world shattered for the second time._

"_I'm not leaving you, _sajana_," he whispered. "I'll never never leave you."_

_His finger reached up to touch my face where my dimple is and he said, "I'm right there."_

He is dying.

But I watch, because I have one last gift for Aman, the man who taught me to smile again.

The lashes drift upwards to reveal the soft brown underneath, and I feel as though a light has come into the room again.

His eyes slowly glide around the room, taking them all in. His mother, his uncle my mother, Gia, Shiv, Jazz and Sweetu, Rohit, my Dadi, and finally me.

I lean close to him, I hold his eyes with mine. One last gift.

My lips twitch into a smile, a smile that holds all the love I possess. One last time, I smile for Aman Mathur, and I bring our hands up so that his trembling finger can touch my dimple.

"Never forget, love," I whisper. "_Kal a jayga."_

He is dying. But we are whole.


End file.
